


Testing the Brakes

by sugarbucket24



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, One Shot, Porn with Feelings, it's pretty far actually, john showing sherlock just how far he can push him, past consent issues, sherlock seeing how far he can push poor john
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-16 05:11:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/858171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarbucket24/pseuds/sugarbucket24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the verge of starting a relationship, Sherlock and John have a conversation that leads to John insisting that in his book, the word stop really does mean stop.  Always.  Sherlock, having had a bad experience with this in the past, decides to test that theory.  Written for a prompt originally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Testing the Brakes

**-Testing the Brakes-**

 

_**Sherlock** _

 

It had come about slowly really, but not without a sense of occasion.  We could both feel it coming, I was sure of it, only neither of us were willing to make that first move that might have been too soon, too much too quickly for the other. It was tentative and therefore, slow.  I was enjoying it immensely. The build up towards the graduation of our friendship and bond towards something _new,_ something that would mean we were no longer only friends.  It was inevitable. I was certain John felt it too. 

Every touch of his lingered longer that it should have; mere brushes of fingertips, pats on the shoulder, the occasional hug.  Hugging was dangerous though, difficult to pull back.  I was staring at him so much, imagining what each part of him would feel like, would _taste_ like. 

It was coming, that was for sure. 

But there were things I was uncertain of.  What kind of lover was John? I had limited experience with only one other man and he had been very relaxed and adventurous in bed.  He always wanted to try new things, push boundaries even when I wasn't quite certain.  It remained a niggling concern in my mind; I had grown to dread intimacy between that us; I couldn't bear to see it happen between John and myself. 

And so, on a rainy, cold day I decided it was time to break the silence. 

“John,” I asked.  He was already looking at me and my stomach fluttered strangely to meet his gaze.  Such warmth, such passion from a single glance.  His warmth felt contagious and I tried to stay on track. 

“Hmm?” he replied, leaning forward slightly.  His pupils were dilated, his breathing shallow he occasionally bit at his bottom lip.  Goddamnit, had he been reading my mind?

“I want to ask you some things.”

He nodded, licking his upper lip.  It was tremendously distracting.  “Go ahead.”

“I feel like we're on the verge of something here,” I said quietly.  “You and I are about to become something more, I can feel it and I think you can too.”

He smiled a small smile, never breaking eye contact with me.  “I can.”

I tried very hard to ignore the feelings of excitement, joy and desire pooling within me.   “Before that happens, I have to ask you something.”

He straightened. “Go on.”

“Have you ever been with another man?”

“No, never.”

“What kind of lover are you?”

He laughed.  “Can't we find that out together?”

“What happens if we're not compatible like that?  I couldn't stand to lose you, John. In any capacity.  I think we should just find out some things now.”

He tried to tame his smile, humouring me perhaps.  “Of course,” he said. “Whatever you want.”

“When you were with other women,” I went on.  “What kind of lover were you? Rough, gentle, exploratory, vanilla?”

“It varied I supposed, it usually varies with the person.”

“In general though?” I pressed.  “Overall?”

He seemed to understand.  “Gentle.”

I nodded.  “I thought as much.  Some things are best known upfront.”

Perhaps my voice came out shakier than I had intended because he got up from the chair and bent down in front of me, taking my hand in his. 

“I would die before I hurt you,” he told me.  “You're everything to me, Sherlock.  We can go as fast or as slow as you want to.  If you want me to stop, I'll stop.”

I snorted.  “I've been assured that before.”

His hand caressed mine and he shook his head.  “No.  I will always stop when you say so.  Always.”

And although it really shouldn't have, given the moment, it resonated in my mind like a challenge. 

*

It began with kissing.  Kissing John was incredible; he _was_ gentle; soft lips, warm and searching for mine. They moved over my lips with such love and knowledge of what I needed that I found myself getting dizzy. His hands slid up into my hair like they were drawn there magnetically and I moaned, wanting to be lost in the moment. 

But the small challenge remained and I wondered how strongly he meant what he said.

I murmured, “Stop,” against his lips and he pulled back immediately.  His hands withdrew and he took a half step back, out of breath.  I grinned, suddenly more turned on that I had been a minute ago.  It was an easy start, of course but it sent a strange little thrill of excitement and pleasure down my spine. 

He was giving me complete control.  It was electrifying. 

I smiled at him and pulled him back, into a hug this time.  He hugged me back and I tried to repress my intense need to drag him down on the floor and have him on top of me. 

This new-found sensation needed to be elongated as much as possible.  I would wait a while before I tried again. 

*

The next time I decided to try and make it harder. 

It began with a kiss, and it really had to be said that John knew how to kiss.  I was already panting, so hard and heavy and _needy_ for more when he slowly slipped his hand under my shirt and up my chest, hovering his hand lightly over my skin and moving it in circles.  It sent shock-waves of pleasure through me and my eyes rolled a little.  I threw my head back and he began kissing my neck. If he didn't stop I was going to come in my trousers like a thirteen year old boy. 

“Stop,” I moaned. 

Everything stopped, ceased completely.  I didn't realise he'd been supporting me with one hand behind my back and I almost feel down.  My knees were shaky and weak and I could hardly see straight I was so incredibly high on arousal.  He was the same. Completely hard from what I could make out; panting, red in the face and _oh_ his lips were a little swollen and red!  God. 

I knew I should stop it there, that it was cruel to continue but I wanted more, _more_ of that feeling.  Knowing he loved me, respected me so much that he could just stop, completely stop when I wanted him to.  It was seriously arousing. 

I moved back in, grabbing his face with both hands and pulled him in for a bruising kiss.  He matched my intensity completely, hands moving all over me. They roamed over my clothes but I wanted them underneath, _under, inside._ Everywhere. I pushed against him, rubbing my hardness against his and he cried out a little, while I drank in the noise.  I moved to push him backwards towards the couch and he let himself be pushed.  The backs of his legs hit the arm and we both fell onto the sofa, landing hard. He broke my fall, never stopped kissing me.  I pulled back just to look at him; eyes blown with desire, desire for me. 

“Get on top of me,” I groaned and we shuffled awkwardly so that I was the one on the bottom, his warm weight atop me. 

“Sherlock,” he sighed into my mouth.  I bucked my hips up into his and he faltered, body almost flinching with pleasure.  I ground harder against him, almost hating myself but too addicted to the response that would come from...

“Stop.”

He pulled back, froze for a second and then carefully got off of me.  I waited for him to get angry, to insist upon knowing what the hell was wrong with me.  Call me a tease, demand that we carry on, this close to orgasm as he obviously was. He just took a deep breath and smiled at me. It was genuine, fond. Loving.  

Everything south of my belt was furious at me.  My mind was swimming in ecstasy. 

*

It didn't happen again for a while.  A week.  During that time, we cuddled, we kissed a little.  We talked for hours, we shared secrets, we shared everything.  I was getting ridiculously excited to do it again, to test him again.  It became harder to wait and so when Friday night finally came, I was thrilled. 

It began the same as the other times.  Kissing, intense kissing.  Roaming hands, sighs, moans, tongue and teeth on my neck.  He would only be as intense or as gentle as I was.  He would never change pace, only match mine. This time we made it to the bedroom and I was genuinely feeling perverse in my delicious anticipation of that word and it's consequences. 

His hands were in my hair again, God that was enough to make me come undone there and then so I pulled gently back and started unbuttoning my shirt. He watched me, lips parted breathing unevenly. 

“Sherlock, you don't have to...”

“Sshhh,” I whispered.  “I want to.”  I slipped my shirt off completely, letting it fall to the ground.  I moved closer to him and began to unbutton his shirt too.  He shivered a little, hands moving over my bare shoulders, down my arms and to my nimble fingers working on his buttons.  He stopped them in their tracks and brought them up to his mouth where he kissed them one by one.  He let one hand go, but kept the other there while he sucked on my index finger, twirling his tongue around it.  I moaned and with my other hand finished the buttons. 

Once his shirt was gone, I moved to his belt buckle and he moved to mine.  I was certain that this time he wouldn't be able to stop; I would make him break his own vow, I would make him feel so good he just wouldn't be able to stop. 

Mine came away first.  He slowly pulled the belt out of it's loops and let it drop.  He undid my buttons while I was still removing his belt. Very slowly, he thumbed my trousers down inch by inch until he hesitated, looking back at me for permission.  I smiled, dizzy with anticipation.  He pushed them all the way down and I stepped out of them.  I was completely naked, painfully hard and he was just _staring_ at me as if he'd never seen anything like it.  Like I was beautiful. 

I moved forward again and pulled down his jeans and boxers until he too stepped out of them.  I closed the gap between our bodies and crashed them together, our mouths meeting once more.  The kiss was feverish, our erections rubbing against one another.  For the first time, John took the initiative. With one hand he took them both together and started moving that hand slowly up and down, teasing almost.  I almost choked at the sheer unadulterated pleasure of it.  His hand was so sure, so knowing.  It was too much, I was going to come so hard if he didn't...

“Stop.”

Everything vanished.  The pleasure, the heat, the delicious pressure building in my stomach. 

He had stopped, he had _actually_ stopped. 

He didn't say anything, only tried to catch his breath with a reassuring smile. 

“Sorry,” I said and meant it this time.  I had been so close, he had too - I could feel it.

“Don't be, love,” he said, with not a trace of animosity or resentment.  “I'm going to have a shower if that's OK?”

I nodded, moving to the bed so I could sit. 

“By the way,” he said as he pulled on his boxers.  “I know what you're doing.”

I looked up, caught off-guard.  “What?”

He was smiling, almost shyly.  “I know what you're doing, Sherlock.  I'll always stop.”

I couldn't help but laugh as I lay down on the bed, trying to catch my breath.  “We'll see.”

*

The final time was our first time.  I wasn't even certain I would try it again, him having figured me out.  It seemed to lessen the merit of the challenge.  It wasn't about trying to prove him wrong any more.  I knew he loved me, I knew it bone deep.  He would never hurt me, never go on without me despite my pleas not to.  He would only ever make me feel good, make me feel loved. 

We were both sweating, both trembling with desire.  It had been such a long build up to this.  So much foreplay, so much _almost_ and _oh God don't come yet_. Wordlessly, we had decided that he would be on top.  I wanted him inside me so much I could taste it in the back of throat; I wanted him to fill me up.  He had worked me open so slowly, thoroughly.  I had been ready a while ago, but he had continued; fingers making me ready, tongue easing the pain. 

Now here we were, his hard, pulsating cock at my entrance and he was waiting.  Waiting for me to give him some sign that it was OK, that I was ready.  It felt monumentally important, that moment.  The last moment before I knew what it felt like to have him inside of me.  Before we'd had sex, made love. 

He stroked my hair away from my forehead, staring down at me. 

“I love you so much,” he breathed. 

I couldn't wait another second.  I arched up, leaning up to kiss him as I did.  He slowly but firmly pushed himself inside me. 

My mouth fell open and my eyes closed; it wasn't quite pain, not quite pleasure.  It was pressure, intensity, fullness, _completion_. John was inside me, finally.  We felt like we had been made to fit together; exactly as we were. 

When he was finally all the way inside, he drew out a little and then slid back in.  He was holding himself back, I could tell.  His arms shook and he was biting his bottom lip. 

I touched his face, made him look at me. 

“I won't break,” I told him.  He smiled, eyes so heavy lidded with lust and love. 

He began fucking me in earnest then, moving in and out, finding a rhythm.  The force behind the pressure building was incredible; at one point, he lifted my leg and placed it over his shoulder.  Every time he fucked into me from then on he hit my prostate; I couldn't keep from screaming.

I lost track of how long it went on for before I began to feel the tightness welling up inside me, I was going to explode, burst into a million pieces....

“Stop!” I cried out. 

He stopped.  He _would_ always stop.  He was trembling everywhere, the effort of restraint maybe.  He started to pull out, but I grabbed his shoulder and shook my head. 

“No, just....stop a minute,” I gasped. 

He stayed inside me, staring down at me with those eyes. 

“I love you, John.  I love you,” I said, feeling two tears roll down the sides of my face.  “I wanted you to know.”

He smiled softly. “I already knew.”

I leaned up and kissed him, shaking as I did. 

“Move, John,” I whispered.  “Make me come, make me yours.”

He resumed his movements until the heat began to pool again, unbearable this time. Demanding release, demanding more of everything.  I was groaning, crying out, screaming; trying to get him deeper, more inside me but it wasn't possible. 

It was too much, I came with such force that I arched off the bed; spasms of pleasure rolling through me, making me see white.  I heard John moan loudly, pace increasing until he slammed home, crying out my name. 

When thought returned, I opened my eyes.  He looked utterly destroyed, I hoped I looked the same.  He gently moved off me, kissing me as he did. 

He flopped down next to me on his back and we both just breathed for a while. 

“I told you,” he sighed.  “I'll always stop.”

“I know you will, John.  Good brakes.”

*

_Fin_

**Author's Note:**

> Hope everyone enjoyed. This was written for a prompt.


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